The Creation of Les Amis de L'ABC
by Icognito DeMimsy
Summary: A modern twist on how the Amis would have met, in no particular order. Mostly short drabble-y things. Intended as a companion to Roommates and other fics in that AU. Rating may go up with their ages.
1. Enjolras and Feuilly

He looked rich but he didn't.

Feuilly had seen a lot of rich people in the past few days. And obviously the boy was rich if he had been allowed to set foot on this estate, but still, something about him was- different. He had seen a lot of rich people, and rich people didn't sleep in their clothes, which this boy obviously had. And rich people also didn't get their shoes dirty, but this boy's black loafers were almost brown from the dirt covering them.

And most importantly, rich people did not offer to help with his work.

"I've got it, thanks," Feuilly said, turning back to the hedge he was trimming. The boy still just stood there, watching him. It was making Feuilly uncomfortable.

"Are you sure?" he said. "I'm taller than you, I can reach those branches."

"I should probably do this by myself," Feuilly said.

A soft thud behind him told him that the boy had sat down on the mucky ground in those nice clean slacks of his. He bit his lip. _Don't ask, Feuilly, _he told himself. _This is a good place. You can stay here for a while. It'll be fine._

"Who are you?" he heard himself say, and he cursed himself for his curiosity.

"I'm Enjolras," the boy said. "I live here."

"Feuilly," Feuilly replied. "I guess I work here now."

Enjolras nodded. "You must be the caretaker's new foster kid."

"Yeah," Feuilly said quietly, stretching up to reach the top of the tree. It really was too tall for him.

"Do you ever think about injustice, Feuilly?" Enjolras said, lying back onto the ground. "I do, sometimes. And I think that there is some injustice going on right now, because you are denying me the opportunity to help you with your work, thereby denying me of an opportunity to A, gain experience, and B, do my daily good deed, based on some stupid class system."

Feuilly sighed and put down the clippers, looking at Enjolras. "You want to talk injustice, we can talk about the partition of Poland," he said. "Not me sitting back while I let my employer do all the work."

Enjolras sat up. "You know about the partition of Poland?"

"I did a school project on it. And then read a lot of books about it. And I'm saving up to visit there someday."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Me too."

Feuilly nodded, not sure what else to say.

"So what is it about the partition of Poland that strikes you as injustice?" Enjolras asked.

"Well," Feuilly said. At last, something he knew how to say. "First of all, it was just plain old wrong. Like when they split up siblings in foster families or something. Except it was more than just a family, it was a whole country."

"Exactly," Enjolras said. His eyes were lit with a bright fire. He smiled, and his smile was dangerous, and yet Feuilly didn't care. "Exactly," Enjolras said again. "Oh, Feuilly, I think you and I are going to get along splendidly."


	2. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras

"Cool backpack," the boy next to him said. Courfeyrac looked down at it.

"Thanks," he said. "It's new, just like me."

"Cool," the boy said. He left his mouth open for too long after he spoke, Courfeyrac thought. It made him seem positively bovine (a word he'd come across on a TV show last night. He thought it might be his new favorite). "What's your name?"

"Courfeyrac," he said, sighing inwardly.

"What kind of a name is that?"

"My kind," he said, slightly peevishly, then took a deep breath and smiled. "I just go by Fey, though, if that's easier."

The other boy shrugged. "So do you know where the cafeteria is yet?" he asked. Fey shook his head. "I'll show you," he said.

They walked in dumb silence, save for the requisite "how old are you" (both nine) and "whose class are you in," and the sound of the other boy's mouth breathing and reached the lunch room quickly, where they were greeted by a large number of other small boys who all looked rather bovine too, in Fey's opinion.

He scanned the lunch room. It didn't look much different from his old school. A lot of little kids laughing and talking and throwing things. His eye was caught by a pair sitting in the back of the lunchroom, a little boy and girl, both with books out. They looked interesting. The boy was wearing a worn tee-shirt and cool sneakers. The girl looked rather uncomfortable in her pretty spring dress. She kept on tugging at her collar absently, her eyes never leaving the page from behind thick glasses.

The boy said something to her and rose, and she nodded absently and continued reading. The boys around him shoved each other in anticipation and Fey remembered their existence with a slight start as he realized they were all heading towards the table where the girl sat. "Hey," he called, jogging up after them. He saw what they were about to do a moment too late and all he could do was jump in front of the bottle of milk heading towards the girl. It was colder than he had expected.

"What did you do that for?" one of the boys snapped. The girl was looking up at him in shock.

"Why would you throw milk at her?" Fey asked, equally shocked.

"She's a nerdy loser. No one cares."

"I do," Fey said. "That's a really nice dress she has on."

The boy in the worn tee-shirt was suddenly beside him. "What's going on?" he said, his voice lower and more dangerous than any little boy's should be. All the others looked at each other nervously.

"It's fine, Enjolras," the girl said. "They were just leaving."

He glared at them till they left, then sat down in a huff. Fey turned awkwardly. He was still wet, but it really wasn't that bad. He had gym clothes in his cubby. "Can I join you?" he said shyly.

The girl nodded. "Of course."

He sat down. "I'm Fey," he said. "Courfeyrac."

"I'm Combeferre," she said, smiling up at him. He liked her smile. She wasn't the least bit bovine, he decided. "And this is Enjolras."

"Hi," Enjolras said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. "So. Have you guys ever seen the movie Star Wars? I just watched it last night and I thought it was awesome."


	3. Joly and Courfeyrac

"But no, really, my stomach hurts and I think it's a ursula."

"You mean an ulcer?" the nurse said, looking into him mouth with a flashlight.

"Eah," Joly lisped, his mouth wide open.

"Well, ten-year-olds don't get ulcers, dear," the nurse said, turning back to the desk and grabbing a pad.

"Are you sure?" he said. "Because this is the third one this week."

"Yes, dear," the nurse said.

The door banged open and two people staggered in under the weight of a third. They were all about his age, two boys and a girl, dressed for gym class.

"I'm dying," one of them was moaning. "I am. I want Ferre to write my eulogy but Enjolras should deliver it."

"Oh, for god's sakes, Fey," the other boy said, dropping him into a chair. "It was a basketball."

"That smacked into my head and wrangled my brains!" Fey said indignantly.

"I think you'll be fine," the girl said.

Fey grabbed her hand. "No, dear, be brave. Don't weep for me, oh most darlingest of Ferres. Know that I love you and be at peace."

She pulled her hand away. "Drama queen."

"Nurse!" the boy warbled. "I'm dying and my friends are refusing to mourn."

"Mr Courfeyrac," the nurse said, bustling over to them. "What happened now?"

"It's just Courfeyrac," the boy said earnestly, "And a basketball hit me in the head in gym."

"Oh, dear," the nurse clucked. "You too can go back to class now, sweeties," she said to the other two children. The girl looked faintly nauseated at the prospect but the boy grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door. "Do you have a headache, hon?" she asked Courfeyrac.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, his joking tone changing over to a pitiable moan with the practiced ease of an experienced con as she checked his eyes and rubbed his scalp for a lump. "And nauseous."

"Okay. Well, why don't you go lie down and I'll call your parents."

"Thank you," he sniffled, and trudged over to the bed next to Joly. He lay there for a few seconds before he heard the nurse go into her office with her phone, then sat up and looked over at Joly.

"Hi," he chirped. "I'm Fey. Are you sick?"

"I have a stomach ache," he said, startled by the boy's vigor.

"Are you gonna puke?"

"If you keep saying puke I might."

Fey chuckled. "So what's your name?"

"Joly."

"Hi, Joly."

"Hi."

Fey lay back down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. "Jolllly," he called in a sing-song voice. "I like you."

"That's nice," Joly said.

"I really do. And so I am going to recruit you."

"For what?"

"Who knows? I just heard that word on the radio and liked it. I thought it seemed appropriate in this situation."

Joly bit his lip. "I'm not really following you."

"No one does. My parents say that I have ADD or something. They try to give me meds for it but I don't take 'em."

"You don't take your medicine?" Joly asked, horrified.

"Nope," the other boy said cheerfully. "Never. Not even Tylenol. Want some candy?" he asked, pulling a gummy bear out of his pocket.

"Not really," the other boy said, wrinkling his nose.

The nurse came out of her office and Fey flopped back down, his face contorting with fake pain.

"Courfeyrac? Your nanny's here to pick you up."

Fey skipped up out of bed and grabbed his backpack. He turned to wink at Joly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Jolllly," he crowed, and skipped out the door.


	4. Eponine and Marius

Eponine Thenadier sighed as she grabbed the letter from her father. "I don't see why you're bothering," she grumbled. "Anyone who lives here is going to be as poor as us."

Her father glared. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"You never do," she said, turning to flounce out the door. She looked behind her in time to catch Montparnasse's sly grin and raised eyebrows: an offer of a place to sleep tonight other than here. She might take it.

She kicked a stone on her way over to the house. It landed in the drain and she silently congratulated herself on her superb aim before knocking on the door.

She didn't know much about their new neighbor. He went to a different school, some fancy private thing, which made it even stranger that he lived here, in the Gorbeau housing units. She rang the doorbell and slouched against the frame, the letter getting limp from her tight grip on it.

He opened the door and she straightened up, the words ready to fly from her mouth.

"Hello, would you like to help us help a child in need?" she rattled off automatically. The boy looked at her, confused. "I'm Eponine Jondrette, I-"

"You live next door, don't you?" he said, stepping back. "I'm Marius Pontmercy, come on in."

She shrugged and strutted into the house, looking around. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor. It looked exactly like what you'd expect a teenage boy living alone's house to look like.

"Sorry it's such a mess," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't get a lot of company."

She nodded, looking around. She suddenly remembered the letter and handed it off to him. He was cute, she thought. Freckles and big, sweet eyes with chestnut-y curls falling in front of his face.

"So, like I was saying," she said. "I'm working with this charity, and any money you can give is welcome."

"Yeah," he said, opening the letter and reading it. "This paper smells like tobacco," he said absently.

"Yeah, well, cigarette smoke's a bitch to get out of your hair. Must be the same for paper."

He looked up at that. "You smoke?"

"You don't?"

"Of course not, smoking kills you."

"On the list of things that could kill me, cigarettes are the least of my worries."

"That's terrible," he said.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't need your pity."

He held up the letter. "I thought that was the point of this brochure. To evoke my pity."

He really was cute, Eponine thought. A pity to cheat such a sweet boy out of his hard earned money. He sat down to peruse the letter further and Eponine meandered into the hall, looking herself over in the full length mirror.

She had on skinny black jeans and a tight, low tank-top with Montparnasse's jacket over top. Her red socks peeked through the worn leather of her combat boots. Her eyeliner had been on for three days now and was holding up rather well, though it seemed to be attempting to escape down her cheeks.

"Do you want the money now?" she heard Marius say from the living room. She wandered back in.

"Yeah," she said, "the sooner the better."

He pulled out his wallet. "I only have a twenty on me," he said. "Is that okay?"

"It's fine," she said. His eyes stayed on hers the entire time he spoke to her. She didn't think she'd ever met a boy who didn't think her eyes were on her chest. He handed her the crumpled twenty and she hesitated before taking it.

"It's really good to finally meet you," he said. "I knew there was someone my age living over there but I didn't know who. I'm glad it's someone whose nice enough to do charity work."

"Yeah, I'm a freaking angel," she muttered.

"Hey, do you want to stay for- pizza, I guess? I don't really have anything else."

"Tempting, but I should get home."

"You sure? I have an episode of How I Met Your Mother recorded."

She bit her lip. "Which season?"

"Three."

"Is that the one with Stella?"

"I think so."

She should go back home, her father was waiting for this money, there would be hell not even Montparnasse could stop, but-

"Scoot over," she said. "I love this episode."


End file.
